


détente

by be_cum



Category: d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Historical References, Politics, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_cum/pseuds/be_cum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The writing of history. Five times when Richelieu came to Anne and one time when she came to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	détente

**Author's Note:**

> A translation of a russian fic [détente](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4201012) I wrote for team **WTF Armand Richelieu & Co** for Fandom Combat. Thank [bean-about-townn](http://bean-about-townn.tumblr.com/) for being an extremely helpful and prompt beta.  
> I guess it's OOC, so heed: Anne is clever in this one. BUT, in my defence I was inspired by a 10 seconds dialogue from vintage TV show about Richelieu.

 

 

_**détente**  
/deɪˈtɑːnt/  
The easing of hostility or strained relations, especially between countries._

The rumours of the Queen Mother’s rapidly rising favourite had spread like wildfire, but Anne’s first meeting with him was purely accidental – she was walking with her ladies-in-waiting down a corridor of the Louvre and Concini and this Bishop stood in their way. Concini merely gave Anne and her consort a careless nod and walked round, but the cleric stopped, and bowed with a trick that took most courtiers years of practice: being quite tall he managed to look up.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed respectfully and when he directed his eyes at Anne he didn’t hurry to look away.

It was an appalling breach of etiquette, but Anne had no desire to look away as her foolish and corpulent mother-in-law, whose attention this smooth-spoken cleric pursued, always did.

“Monsieur Luçon,” she narrowed her eyes imperceptibly.

Luçon bowed to her again and hurried to follow Concini.

“Oily prelate,” Madame de Luynes spat with disdain, a grimace of disgust contorting her sweet features.

As Queen of France, Anne could easily sabotage the fall of this ambitionist. But Marie de Medici, proud, careless and immeasurably power-hungry, remained the more powerful Queen. And, more dangerously, she was completely enamoured by the prelate.

The cleric excited in Anne a vivid and ineradicable animosity, and if she wasn’t sure that the Bishop’s attention was directly proportional to the amount of power she wielded at court, she would bet that the animosity was mutual.

And Anne suspected that Bishop of Luçon was perfectly informed about her feelings.  
Their future meetings – of Queen and Bishop, Queen and Cardinal, and Queen and Minister – were no less unpleasant or unvocal than this one.

And yet – if Anne didn’t know that Richelieu, despite being extremely vindictive and rancorous, never put personal matters above political ones, and if her own goals weren’t so far removed from politics – she would have thought that their meetings truly shaped the future of France.

*

Several minutes of his afterhours visit had passed and the Cardinal remained silent. Anne was silent too, willing herself to not reveal that his visit left her alarmed and anxious, two feelings that inevitably appeared whenever she was forced to exchange pleasantries with this man, both in private and in the King’s presence.

“Your Majesty, you acted rather inconsiderately,” Richelieu finally said, dryly and business-like, casting all polite pretences aside.

“How dare you!”

“And if _you_ are prepared to refuse the King’s favour, then think of the future of France,” he continued in the same indifferent and detached tone, so dissimilar to his usual suave, smooth baritone.

Anne was utterly indifferent to France’s future – the brainchild of this ambitious monster and her loveless despot of a husband.

“Or think of yourself, Your Majesty,” Richelieu pressed. “The King’s health is weak, God save him, and the fate of a childless, widowed Queen is the least enviable in the entire kingdom.”

“Are you threatening me?” Anne asked sharply, barely hiding her nervousness from his piercing look. At the end of the day, he did have a leverage to threaten her with.

“I’m merely concerned about your welfare,” Richelieu lied easily. “It would be an immense nuisance to fall out of favour in the event of His Majesty’s untimely death, just because your friend has offered you a game of tags when you were least expecting it. Even though that what you were expecting was a rather limited range of physical entertainments, given your delicate state.”

Anne bit her lip. Richelieu spoke unusually boldly and arrogantly, but the King favoured the Cardinal, and had treated her coldly since the miscarriage. It could be counted as pettiness, but Anne wanted to teach the arrogant Minister a lesson for his dismissive attitude.

“Dance for me,” Anne ordered, surprising even herself.

Richelieu had opened his mouth in surprise, but quickly came to his senses and pursed his lips in a thin line. Only his slightly raised eyebrows gave voice to his confusion.

“Your Majesty?” he asked carefully.

“You heard me, Cardinal. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Anne said with a fake annoyance, showing him that she would not tolerate no for an answer. “If my limited entertainments include neither running nor playing, dance for me. Entertain me.”

Richelieu straightened his back. His face was pale and unreadable.

“Take the castanets,” she added in a fit of childish impertinence. Catching his confused look, Anne elaborated, “In the table, take them. I command you.”

The minutes during which Richelieu crossed the room and pulled a creaking drawer, taking out the old castanets Anne had brought from home, seemed like an eternity for her. Her heart trembled with anticipation and no small amount of fear – what if he wouldn’t listen? What if there were repercussions for the cruel joke she was playing on him?

But, with the Lord as her witness, she would swear everything in the world was worth witnessing Richelieu’s humiliation as he started his dance.

Gained power over Richelieu, even for a few short minutes, was inebriating. She could ask for anything – and he would obey because she was his Queen. Let him take revenge, she didn’t care. But this intolerable humiliation - like the Queen felt whenever Richelieu exhibited her to ridicule before the king - he would never forget. And he would never forget that. It was hardly a dance; the Cardinal’s movements were tense and awkward, perhaps out of shame and Anne’s attentive gaze, or maybe because the lack of music deprived him of opportunities to catch a rhythm. Castanets rattled; they sounded wrong in the hands of this sleek Frenchman. Richelieu’s long arms looked like the wooden limbs of a marionette.

Anne laughed; he was a puppet of a man. There was no other way to describe his tense and twitching movements. Richelieu didn’t even flinch and continued with his dance.

After a few minutes of ringing silence, occasionally interrupted by a dry clicking of the castanets, Anne raised her hand to stop Richelieu.

“Enough,” she ordered. “You may go.”

Richelieu bowed, hiding the blush which stained his hollow cheeks. He didn’t look at her, and she wasn’t stupid to take it as a sign of respect. She didn’t need to look into his eyes to know that he would never forget, or forgive.

As she herself wouldn’t forget or forgive the sorrows and humiliations he had caused her.

Later that evening, when going through her papers and documents, she let out a scream full of anger and frustration:

“Bastard!”

In addition to her castanets, that wretch had stolen her personal letters.

*

If he wanted to catch her in disarray, he was too late – the Duchess de Chevreuse was able to warn her of his visit, transferring a secret note minutes before he arrived.

Cardinal Richelieu, having spent all his time in shadows, sometimes couldn’t resist some histrionics in his actions.

“I beg your pardon for my unexpected visit, Your Majesty,” he bowed.

“Leave it, Cardinal, I’m always glad to see you,” Anne replied. Sometimes she wondered why the Cardinal persisted in this meaningless charade. “To what I owe you your visit?”

“Oh, I merely wanted to inform you of Lord Montague’s arrest in person,” Richelieu said innocently.

Anne smiled airily. In a pale reflection of the window glass, her smile was tense and fake. She didn’t dare to hope that she could fool the Cardinal and hide her worry.

“At the moment, Lord Montague is in Coiffy fortress.”

Her smile was a wax mask frozen on her lips.

“And you disturbed me with this nonsense? Really, Cardinal, I thought that the management of such a great country like France would not include the work of a page, when rumours work quite so well.”

Richelieu tilted his head.

“It’s a pity that Madame de Chevreuse left the Court,” he remarked nonchalantly. “And a pity that her job… as a page and spreader of rumours, will be of no use outside of Louvre.”

“And obviously you have nothing to do with her exile, Cardinal,” Anne said with disdain, her chin raised high and proud.

“And I have nothing to do with the Ambassador, apart from political matters, of course. Unlike your friend, who has a remarkably similar handwriting to yours – and a remarkably frivolous manner of writing, according to the letters we found in Lord Montague’s possession.”

Anne blushed furiously and leaned backwards so a shadow would be cast over her features, hoping that the distance between herself and the Cardinal and the haziness of the dim lighting would hide her embarrassment.

“Oh, you know the Duchess. Her coquetry is legendary, and the Lord is her close friend.”

“As Duke of Buckingham is your closest friend… and confidant.”

“I dare to repeat myself, that I’m surprised that during the siege of La Rochelle, that nest of heresy and Protestants, you, Cardinal, are personally taking the time to talk to me about the rumours wherewith Louvre’s life is so rich.”

“Lord de Saint-Seurin made me even more surprised than yourself, by telling that he saw your personal colours on those ships instead of English ones, and a shrine with your portrait in the Duke’s cabin. I’m afraid that my personally taking time to talk to you has everything to do with a successful siege of La Rochelle.”

“Well, you won’t find any portraits of the Duke in my premises, of that I assure you,” Anne replied coldly.

“A mere mention of your name in Lord Montague’s letters will be more than enough,” Richelieu retorted softly, with a smile.

“That you won’t find,” Anne said. Cardinal must have heard a faint uncertainty in her voice.

His smile widened.

“And what a delicate situation: such reckless correspondence found in a hand of an English agent who was heading to Nancy and Turin with the aim of invading France and conquering it with ships over which your personal colours fly.

Anne hoped that her reply to Cardinal’s predatory grin was a mocking smile.

“And you know the temper of our King,” Richelieu continued without remorse. “He may act in an unusually cruel manner… If he were to learn about your correspondence with the Duke, you would be immediately sent back to Spain.”

“You will not be able to convince the King that I committed treason,” Anne said haughtily. Her throat was choked by anxiety and fear. “You have no proof.”

Richelieu frowned slightly, as if holding back the desire to rub the bridge of his nose. It seemed as if his every response drained him of his strength.

“Your Majesty, may I speak honestly?”

“Are you capable of such deed?”

“The King needs neither convincing nor evidence… If someone were to tell him a mere rumour, he would convince himself of things much worse than they actually are,” he said wearily.

“And what are you going to do?” Anne asked quickly and mentally cursed herself for this weakness.

Richelieu took his time to answer: weighing, calculating something.

“That depends on what your priorities are. Are you a Spaniard, the beloved of an Englishman, or are you a Queen of France?”

She flushed. Even the Venetian White would be unable to hide the colour on her face.

“What are you going to do?” She repeated firmly and authoritatively, though her voice slightly trembled with perturbation.

Richelieu cocked his head. In the dim light of a cloudy day, the wrinkles on his face stood out particularly sharply. His grey hair looked like faded rags, his eyes gazed tiredly under half-closed lids, and his skin appeared sallow and unhealthy.

Anne couldn’t comprehend how such a tired, sick and old man could inspire a blind fear across the entirety of Europe. Nevertheless, she felt no pity for him. Perhaps it was cruel, but when did the Cardinal measured up to his holy dignity?

“I’m going to offer you a Trojan horse, Your Majesty.”

“What?” Anne was taken aback.

“We all are well aware that this war is being fought for the same reasons the Greeks once besieged Troy. Unfortunately, neither the Crown’s resources nor my own health will allow us to wait for ten years. But your unconditional influence on the Duke will help us win.”

Anne paused. It was her turn to weigh and calculate her answer to the Cardinal. “And what influence would you have me provide?”

“One short note to Lord Buckingham, with a request to cease aiding La Rochelle. Because of his all-consuming love for you, he, of course, will agree,” Richelieu glowed with a carefully concealed triumph.

“You release Montague,” she put forward her demand.

“I'm afraid, given his incriminating circumstances—”

“You release Montague,” Anne repeated gravely. “Immediately. Along with his entire correspondence.”

Richelieu bit his lip , studying her with piercing dull grey eyes.

Anna smiled triumphantly, although she didn’t feel victorious.

“My Trojan horse will be ready by tomorrow morning,” she said.

“I look forward to it, Your Majesty,” Richelieu bowed.

When Cardinal had left, Anne allowed herself a soft moan, full of despair and anxiety. Gathering her thoughts and regaining her composure, she called her most loyal lady-in-waiting.

“I need you to arrange a meeting between me and Laporte. As soon as possible, and under the cover of the night. It concerns my letters to Buckingham. Hurry, this is a matter of an extreme importance!”

Anne didn’t expect the Cardinal to refrain from using her letters for nefarious purposes, but nor did she doubt that the Cardinal himself expected honesty or inaction from her.  
In comparison to Louis’ sudden and unpredictable outbursts of anger, Richelieu’s constancy could even be called reassuring.

*

Richelieu had perhaps the most cunning and resourceful mind in all of France, but sometimes he was laughably predictable.

Marie de Medici left to celebrate her victory over the Cardinal, leaving her premises empty. With her faithful Marie that helped her sneak into the Petit Luxembourg, waiting for Richelieu in the Queen Mother’s private rooms was easy. If he were a fool he’d be outside of the city, but thankfully, Minister of France was merely frightened. Besides, she had lovely company for her wait.

“I hate the Cardinal,” the parrot screeched when Anne entered the Florentine’s rooms. She was immediately hit by the squalid smell of bird faeces and feathers.

“Oh, Monsieur,” she murmured, closing the door behind her, “we just met and already have so much in common.”

The parrot broke into a feat of curses and Anne couldn’t help but smile.

“Apparently, Queen Mother is completely out of her mind; her only confidant is a bird.”

“I helped him rise and this ungrateful…” the bird started to chant in obscene Italian again.

Anne hurried to dim the light when she heard the steps, leaving a single burning candle so she would be unnoticed for as long as possible. Then she remembered the parrot and threw her handkerchief on its cage. The bird silenced.

The steps were swift and light but Anne would recognize that tread everywhere – she strained her hearing too often; worried that Richelieu would try to take her by surprise once again.

The door creaked. Anne tried to relax, leaning into the soft backrest of an armchair.

“My dear Cardinal,” she smiled, welcoming him with a slight nod.

For a few blessed moments Richelieu was speechless.

“The Mother Queen retired with Lord Épernon,” Anne explained, enjoying his confused and terrified look. “I’m afraid I am not the Queen you were in such a hurry to see.”

“Each of our meetings is of great honour to me Your Majesty, and I hasten to assure you that your presence will never be unwelcome to me,” Richelieu replied respectfully, as he seemingly willed his features to relax.

“Sit down, Cardinal,” Anne offered, pointing to the chair opposite her own. “Despite our disagreements, our meetings are always entertaining.”

He obediently sat, but his back was too straight and rigid to suggest a friendly and unhurried conversation.

“The Queen Mother is quite angry with you,” Anne said carelessly, making herself comfortable in the armchair of her mother-in-law.

“It would be foolish to deny it,” Richelieu agreed.

“And if the King will listen to her,” Anne started, savouring every moment. Seldom had she been able to defeat the Cardinal. She might as well enjoy every second of her victory. “You will face a total destruction.”

“The Queen Mother is merciful even with the worst of her servants.”

“Oh, dear Cardinal,” Anne shook her head, smiling thinly. “I’m not here to gloat over your fall.”

“Such thoughts have never occurred to me, Your Majesty.”

“I’m here, Cardinal —” Richelieu stiffened and Anne deliberately paused for longer than necessary. The silence stretched for a few agonizing seconds. She thought that, in such moments, Richelieu didn’t really calculate anything, but wore down his victims. At least that was how Anne felt. “— I’m here, Cardinal, to offer you my assistance.”

Richelieu was speechless again.

“Assistance?” he managed to croak hoarsely. “You?”

“Of course – in exchange for a small favour.”

Understanding flickered in Richelieu’s eyes.

“As you wish,” he spoke with feigned obedience. “Really, Your Majesty, I have no words to express my gratitude.”

“We don’t have much in common, but there is one thing we agree on. Her presence in the Council is of no advantage to either of us. The Queen Mother oughtn’t have such tangible and detrimental influence on the King’s decisions.”

“The love of a mother is legendary.”

“Such a pity that there’s not enough of it for the son’s Minister,” Anne remarked absent-mindedly. “Did you love her?”

She didn’t really expect an honest reply from the Cardinal. And it didn’t really interest her.

“It’s impossible not to love the Queen Mother; her beneficence and magnanimity,” Richelieu finally replied.

“I hate the Cardinal,” the bird screeched once again. Richelieu flinched as if he was hit. The handkerchief had strayed off and the bird had woken up.

 _"Does it damage your pride,”_ Anne wanted to ask, _“to know that a woman who loved you curses you so much that even a stupid bird remembered every single bit of it?”_

“She loved you,” Anne said.

“It was my duty – to serve and be of use to the Queen Mother.”

“But nevertheless, the ire and hatred of an abandoned and betrayed woman nearly undid you, Cardinal.”

“It was only your beneficence that saved me from an imminent downfall, Madame. I am forever grateful for that.”

“Oh, please don’t be, dear Cardinal,” Anne smiled. “We both know where your gratefulness leads.”

“I will see you in Versailles, Your Majesty,” Richelieu bowed.

“I’m looking forward to it, Cardinal.”

Anne sat for a while in silence: a candle burned to a root and went out; so she waited until the wax cooled down to take the stub out of the sconce and hide the traces of her presence.

“If only you learnt something useful,” she told to the settled parrot, taking her handkerchief.

“Ungrateful and vile, a rotten carrion,” it replied sleepily. “A Devil in a red cape.”

Anna pulled a stub and inserted another candle that she brought from the Louvre. It was unlikely that Marie de Medici would think that someone was deciding on her fate in her own rooms, but Anne wasn’t going to risk it.

Anne was informed by the King of his decision in favour of the Cardinal the next morning. But Richelieu did not have to know about it just yet. As well as that, his tireless opponent, the Duchesse de Chevreuse – her dear and beloved Chevrette – had returned to Paris.

The wooden and fake smile that appeared every time she met the Cardinal didn’t leave her face.

 _“You don’t know him!”_ defeated Juno wept in Versailles. _“He’s worse than the Devil himself when Fate is in his favour, and when it isn’t he’s nothing but a queasy shadow of a man!”_

Anne looked at the plump and pathetic woman who had lost all of her power and influence at once, and with a detached curiosity wondered whether she was capable of understanding how she changed the entire course of history whilst being completely unaware of it.

And how history itself is created – conspiracy against conspiracy, intrigue in opposition to intrigue. A thought-out stratagem against carelessly scribbled notes, a woman’s hairpin against the Royal cavalry…

It would be amusing to think about if Anne wasn’t a part of it.

History isn’t written in wars, revolutions and the succession of monarchs, but in shadows, in secret, in quiet corners, in crook and crannies.

In the dark.

*

The smile that always welcomed the Cardinal upon his arrival forced Anne’s facial muscles to go numb. A single look at Richelieu’s face, glowing with triumph, was enough for her smile to slowly fade, baring fear and panic underneath. She smiled even wider. This falsehood was so deep in her skin because of him. Anne didn’t know if she could ever get rid of it, if this false mask would ever turn into a sincere smile. If she had lost the ability to be genuine.

Confessors of the King hesitated behind Richelieu’s back but Anne deliberately decided to pay them no attention. Richelieu needed a crowd, partly because he could not stay away from theatrics, partly because he needed witnesses. Anne noticed the presence of Louis’ confessor - the King was aware of the Cardinal’s visit.

“Cardinal, what an honour,” she tried her best to radiate charm.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” he bowed.

“Apparently, you have something to say to me,” Anne lifted her chin proudly and casually sat in a chair, watching the Minster’s actions from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, your Majesty,” Richelieu began with a voice thick as honey. “You have put yourself in a very delicate situation.”

“I must admit that I am somewhat puzzled.”

“Oh, I never doubted that,” Richelieu started to pace, rubbing his hands as if trying to get the blood flowing through his body. “But I think that you remember your correspondence with your brother quite clearly. In the light of recent events it looks more than equivocal, I might add.”

“Cardinal-Infante Fernande is my brother and I have nothing to hide. Yes, I do sometimes send him messages. He has been ill recently, and I just wanted to ask after his well-being and other things concerning our family,” she brushed it off, trying hard not to flutter.

Richelieu, it seemed, didn’t notice her uneasiness

The Cardinal stopped right in front of her chair and offered a crooked half-smile.

“I’m sure that the details of the agreement between France and the Prince of Lorraine will make a salutiferous impact on Cardinal-Infante’s health.”

Anne swallowed thickly. Damn his spies!

“Don’t bother, Your Majesty. I have more than enough evidence to accuse you of high treason.”

She clutched the armrests tightly. The wood under a satin lining dug into her palms and the pain brought Anne to her senses.

“Monsignori,” she addressed the clerics still lurking behind Richelieu. “This matter concerns the Cardinal and I only.”

They started to murmur quietly with indignation. Richelieu didn’t move a finger to make them obey her.

“Monsignori,” Anne repeated sternly, “I suggest you leave.”

Confessors could, perhaps, disobey the Spanish Princess. But they had no right to defy the Queen of France.

She waited until the last of them closed the door. Only then did she lift her eyes to look at the Cardinal.

“You are right,” her voice trembled with cold-bloodedly calculated anguish. “I wrote to my brother about the agreement and the danger of Franco-British alliance, Cardinal.”

“I must admit that I am somewhat puzzled. Not a minute ago you were claiming quite the opposite.

“I just wanted recognition,” she retorted with fervor. “I just wanted recognition of liabilities I have, or at least I thought I have, to those who drove me out of this business. Isn’t it not the case, Cardinal?”

“Your Majesty, I assure you that nobody drove you…”

“Give me your hand!” she exclaimed with tears in her eyes. She extended hers and added: “Let this agreement stay solely between us, the King shouldn’t know about it. I swear that I will pledge my oath to this country and this kingdom.”

Richelieu stepped back hastily.

“Your Majesty, I have no doubts in your allegiance to France,” he was quick to assure her, being, in Anne’s opinion, too delightful. Putting an act in front of the Cardinal when he relished in her misery was humiliating, but at least he would be blinded by his victory. Enough that he would not discover matters far more important than Anne’s correspondence with her brother…

“That’s good,” she crumpled her handkerchief nervously.

“The King was furious when he read your letters to your brother,” Richelieu drawled. “But my niece begged for forgiveness on your behalf…”

“So what are you going to do?” she asked, voice thick with unshed tears.

The Cardinal slipped a document from his pocket and put it on the table nest to her chair.

“There will be no continuation of this matter, Your Majesty,” Richelieu bowed respectfully and headed towards the door. “I have no desire to separate husband and wife. I promise you that I will make every possible effort to persuade the King to pardon you.”

The door clicked shut behind the Cardinal. Anne grabbed the document and run her eyes over it. Bastard! He drew up the protocol that needed her signature way before their meeting. He knew everything from the start.

“You will pay for it!” she whispered with fervor, paying no heed to tears of fury and frustration that run down her blushed cheeks. “You will pay for it! Marie! We have to pass a message to Chevrette, she has to be ready to leave to Spain. The matter brooks no delay, we have to pre-empt the Cardinal!”

Marie nodded and rushed towards a secret exit from the room. For a short moment she stopped in front of the door and said to her Queen, with a look full of compassion:

“He’s an absolute devil, Your Majesty. Devil!”

Anne chuckled faintly, gripping Richelieu’s protocol in her hand, almost crumpling it.

“This man as nothing left in his soul that would grant him a miniscule chance for Purgatory, let alone an absolution.”

“Aren’t you worry for your soul, Your Majesty?” Marie asked and Anne was amazed by her sagacity.

Did she wish death upon the Cardinal? Undoubtedly.

She hated and despised him, but those feelings alone were more than she had ever felt towards anyone. Even her husband evoked nothing in her but boredom and irritation.

*

With the impending death that she wished so much upon the Cardinal came the realisation that with his departure there would be no confidence of Minister’s devotion to the country . Jules was a brilliant politician, even though that he lacked Richelieu’s vision. Yet Anne remembered perfectly clearly what happened to France when the Crown trusted its fate in the hands of an Italian, and hoping for Louis’ decisions to be made independently was purblind and simply foolish.

For the very first time Anne was frightened when she really thought of the drastically changed France Richelieu left in his wake, and what Herculean efforts it would take to preserve it. What she would have to do for the sake of her son.

Anne didn’t know why she came to him. She looked at the dying man and was at complete loss.

“Your Majesty,” he croaked, “I am somewhat puzzled by your visit.”

“I assure you; it will be short so as not to disturb you,” Anne replied impassively, barely restraining the scathing, fake smile that greeted every one of their short and unpleasant meetings. The smile that was on her face till the end of those meetings.

“Your presence alone makes a salutiferous impact on my health,” Richelieu played along. Yet another game of wills.

With God as their witness, what games they had played.

The room sank into silence, but this time no one was weighing nor calculating their next remark in order to gain an upper hand, no one was looking for points to hit so it hurt. Anne didn’t know what she could say to Richelieu as he lay dying. She always had words prepared for him, but not this time. There was nothing Richelieu didn’t know, nothing Anne hadn’t told him before.

“Could it be that my dear Cardinal will leave me?”

“I will leave you France in its full greatness in return,” a smile barely touched the corners of his lips.

“You leave me a heavy burden to carry, Cardinal.”

“A Regent’s crown is always heavy, Your Majesty.”

Finally, Anne was granted, if not revelation, understanding - despite Richelieu’s backstabbing, treachery and ignominy, she could always expect only that; no more, no less. At court, sodden in intrigues and lies it was comforting - to know what to expect.

“I hate you,” Anne finally said. Those words that were finally spoken out loud, that had been stuck in her throat since long ago, didn’t grant her any relief. Both of them knew it quite well. The reasons were so numerous that it seemed as though Richelieu would die before Anne could name them all. Her hatred was so old that Anne didn’t even remember how she lived without it.

Richelieu knew it perfectly well, but Anne expected as much of him.

“Your Majesty, I will die with a clear conscience, knowing that just for once you were genuinely honest with me,” Richelieu smiled crookedly and mockingly. And Anne replied with her usual fake smile.

She left Richelieu’s portrait in Louvre - as an homage to her late husband’s Minister, to Jules’ mentor – because Jules would never have succeeded if not for that sphinx in a red cape. Perhaps she left the portrait so she could manage the country in front of the eyes of that ambitionist, knowing that he couldn’t stop her, that he couldn’t weave any plots, couldn’t entangle her in a web of deceit only for Anne to entangle him in turn with plots and intrigues.

A puppet danced a sarabande, as it made the whole France dance. As France made a puppet dance in return.

Sometimes, when she was passing by the portrait, she felt as if the eyes, painted by Champagne’s talented hand in such detail, were following her; as if the lips were smiling thinly.

“This is a wave of revolution that would’ve made you the most powerful man in the country, if you were alive.”

A shadow cast on Richelieu’s face made it seem like the corner of his lips lifted up and his head tilted. But Anne didn’t fool herself; she knew that it was just the play of scattered shadows on a cloudy, sunless afternoon. Who knew what she would do if it wasn’t shadow-play. Throw it in a fire? Tear it asunder? Only God knew. Him, and maybe Richelieu himself.

Anne smiled crookedly out of habit, as she always did during their meetings, and thought absent-mindedly: how stunned the Court would be if it were to find out that the old Regent was completely out of her mind, as she started to converse with a portrait of her closest enemy.

“But you knew that without me, didn’t you, Cardinal?”

He was silent.

_fin_  



End file.
